Of Dropstem And Hobbit Pipes
by Sherlock Holmes Skittle
Summary: Hi! I'm Rhee Phan, and this is the second part in my adventures, the first being The Notebook is Mightier Than the Magnifying Glass. After a good friend of mine disappears, I go to get help from Mr. Holmes and somehow Lord of the Rings gets involved.
1. How To Fry Ants With A Magnifying Glass

**Of Dropstem And Hobbit Pipes**

**How To Fry Ants With A Magnifying Glass**

_**Grand and General Disclaimer:** I don't own anything except me. Please do not take this to mean that I own Sherlock Holmes, Lord of the Rings, various fan-girls, the masses of Mary-Sues, or anything related to them. I just write about how stupid Mary-Sues/Helens are, and they wish I'd stop. But I don't. Then they try in vain to egg my house, so I squirt them with a hose, so they throw doughnuts at my window, some of which land inside my room, where I catch them in a blanket and eat them later. Maybe they're trying to make me fat. Or they're throwing them at me because they're anorexic. Either way, I like doughnuts. Especially chocolate on chocolate. I also love the cream-filled ones._

_Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be writing a disclaimer. Okay, I don't own any Lord of the Rings DVD's, so don't ask. I only own the books. I don't even have a ring to put on a silver chain and obsess over. I could do that with my laptop, but that would be heavy, plus I think I would freak people out by saying, "My Precious!" every few seconds. For some reason, when I did that with my (then) new _Complete Sherlock Holmes_ books, I was repeatedly sent down to the counselors' office. I still don't understand why they did that. Maybe it was because I took my bow and arrows to school to prove I could shoot better than Legolas. How I got to that point, I'll never know._

_Anyway, just to clear things up, I don't like repeating this every chapter because I tend to get carried away, as you can see here. If you don't see a disclaimer on every chapter, and you won't, please don't think that I suddenly won the lotto and went to buy the rights to every character you see here. First off, I don't gamble, and secondly, I'm seventeen and not old enough to gamble. Thirdly, I would much rather write about Mr. Holmes than actually own the rights to him. That would be a really awkward conversation: "Hi, Mr. Holmes! I own you now." "No, you don't." "Yes I do." "Get out of here!" Yeah. So I don't own him, or Lord of the Rings. So if you're wondering who actually does own those, go on the internet and double-check before you suddenly start believing that it's me. Because it's not._

Now what? Oh, yeah. The story.

As you can probably tell from my disclaimer, this story includes Lord of the Rings and Sherlock Holmes. You're probably wondering how in the world someone could even think of doing a Lord of the Rings/Sherlock Holmes crossover, and trust me, I'm thinking the same thing as I'm writing this. But for some reason, it happened, and now it lies with me to tell the story.

Let's start with the beginning since that's usually a good place to start. When I got back, there were a few things I had to explain, like my bright silver eyes and a sprained wrist. The easiest thing to do when you're faced with a dilemma like this is to one, hide everything you can for as long as possible, two, fake an injury, and three, go into denial. Either that, or tell the truth, and that probably wasn't going to happen. At least for a while.

The next morning, I found an old pair of sunglasses and avoided using my right hand as much as possible. It was difficult eating breakfast, loading my big black bag, and living down the strange stares I got from my family. Once I was out of the house and at school, things were so much better. Kind of.

In the few days that I was gone, and yet, not gone, I forgot that I had to study for a history test, and my English teacher decided that we all had to write essays in class. Let me tell you, my wrist was in pain, as was my head. I didn't have P.E., so I couldn't get injured playing volleyball or anything like that.

As I was walking home, since I happened to miss the bus, my very good friend Baylei Bryan caught up with me. "Hey, girl! What happened to you?"

"You mean my wrist?" I held it up and found that it was swelling. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Not really." At least she's honest.

"Well, try to keep this one to yourself. Last night, I hit writer's block with my book, so I did something that I know I shouldn't have."

"You wrote a fanfiction?" she asked in horror.

"I wrote a fanfiction, and it turned out stranger than I expected it to. Once I got my character down on paper, which was really a carbon copy of me, something strange happened. I would write something down, and then it would happen. So I wrote myself into _A Scandal in Bohemia_."

"You didn't! Please tell me this is a joke." Sounded like she was frightened, but she really wanted to believe it was true.

"It isn't. I met Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, and even Mr. Doyle."

"Did you get to go on a case with him like all the other Mary-Sues do?"

"First off, they call them Helens, and yes, I guess I did." I then proceeded to tell her exactly what happened to me. If you wish to read about that account, please go over to the prequel and read about it there. I don't intend to repeat it all here.

When I finally finished, we had reached my house. "That looks bad," said Baylei, referring to my wrist.

"And it hurts more than it looks. How can I explain this to my parents?"

"You could get hit by a car. Or you could do what I do: forget how it happened and whine over how much it hurts. When you get to the ER and they fix you up, forget it ever happened. That's what I do."

Well, I got home and 'noticed' that my wrist was swollen. When Mom took a good look at it, she determined that it had been sprained. I wasn't sure how long it had been hurting, and I wasn't even sure how it happened. I must have fallen or something. Thankfully, Dad's a paramedic and has the kind of stuff lying around for sprained wrists. It only took twenty minutes of avoiding questions to get it on and me happy.

Anyway, that took care of my wrist, but Mom noticed my silver eyes. "What happened to your eyes? They're silver."

"They've always been silver."

"No they haven't."

"Yes they have. Ow! My wrist!"

* * *

The next day, Baylei wasn't at school. I figured that she was sick, but when it was announced that she had disappeared and that searches were being organized to find her, I began to get worried. As soon as I could, I ran up to the library and jumped on a computer. My recent ordeal with fan fiction had left me a little wary of it, but Baylei, like me, was an author on FanFiction dot net. That, and I had just told her a few days ago how I wrote myself into a Mr. Holmes' world. I hoped against hope that she hadn't just tried to do what I did. 

Baylei loved Lord of the Rings and constantly wrote terrible Helen – I mean Mary Sue – stories, but don't tell her I told you that. She thinks she's wonderful, and her reviews don't tell her otherwise. But let's not focus on that. I quickly brought up her profile and found that she had updated one of her latest stories the night before. In five minute, five page intervals, I printed off her entire story. Why? Because, like Baylei, her Mary Sue had mysteriously vanished in the last update.

Next, I googled 'Sherlock Holmes' to find the entire text of 'The Red-Headed League,' and copied it into WordPerfect. I scrolled down to the end, put in a horizontal line and typed, _Mr. Holmes? It's Rhee Phan._

A moment later, characters appeared below my inserted ones. _Hello Ms. Phan. How can I help?_

_I have a bit of a problem. My friend has disappeared._

_Kidnaping?_

_Fan fiction. She created a Helen, and now she's gone._

_Terrible._

_Was that sarcasm I sensed?_ I didn't get a reply to that. _If you don't mind, could I come over and show you what I found?_

_Of course._

I stuffed my papers into my big black bag, along with a textbook or two, saved our conversation, and left, dropping off five dollars for the paper I had used. A quick pit stop at my locker gave me an extra textbook or three and my _Complete Sherlock Holmes_ books. "Okay," I said to myself. "I knock because I'm at 221b Baker Street. When I knock, I'm there already. Okay? Okay." I raised my arm and knocked on air.

But it wasn't air I knocked on. Dark wood met my knuckles, resulting in a '_knock, knock, knock_.' I was standing in front of the door of the world's most famous address, and the world's most famous detective answered it. "Ms. Phan, come in."

I was back.

* * *

After doing our best to study Baylei's Mary Sue, Mr. Holmes and I eventually settled with skimming it for anything that popped out. More than once, we had to take a black pen and scribble out parts that we couldn't stand to even look at. When we reached the end, though, we both knew that from what we did read, something was fishy. 

"I cannot believe how terribly this is written," Mr. Holmes just had to say for the seventh time. "Did you notice, however, that there were parts that were _readable_?"

"On occasion. But they didn't sound like her. It was as if someone else was writing it, or at least putting in something that resembled a plot."

"Exactly. These orcs are described with silver eyes, and this Sauron has a powerful friend." Mr. Holmes decided to light his pipe and began puffing thoughtfully on it. I coughed subtly into my sleeve, pretending to have asthma. He either didn't get the message, or chose not to.

"This isn't something she could think up, much less want to write. You think it's _him_?"

"You know that I don't theorize before I have all the facts."

"Yeah, but I need something. What happened?"

"From what I can tell, she must have realized what was happening and tried to fix it. Although, I cannot see how this is _repairable _at all."

I tolerated his criticism of my Baylei's writing only because I thought exactly the same thing. However, if he was going to go further and insult her intelligence, I was going to have to drop an anvil on his foot. Baylei is really bright; she just can't write. "Do you know where she is now?" I continued.

He looked at me like I should know this. "Where all the other Helens go." Crud. "And if you want something to do, please destroy this wretched piece of – what do you call it – fan fiction." He held it out to me with two fingers, like it was a soiled diaper.

I took Baylei's papers and Mr. Holmes' magnifying glass, and opened the window so I could get some good sunlight. For once, it wasn't cloudy in London. I focused the light coming through the magnifying glass so that the papers began to blacken. "I guess I have to go to Middle Earth. Wanna come?"

"No." Can't say I didn't expect that. The smoke wafted from the curling papers, growing stronger the longer I held the beam of light on it. Suddenly, it burst into flames, but I've done this sort of thing before. All you do is panic, toss it on the ground and stomp on it until the adrenaline is out of your system. I would have done that, but Mr. Holmes took it from my hands before I threw it on his nice hardwood floors, and tossed it into the fireplace.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm wondering if that was wise," said I, as the papers were completely engulfed in flames now.

He turned to look at the fireplace, and with a curse that I won't be writing here, he tried to pull what was left of the papers out of the fireplace. I went to help him, but it was no use. All of a sudden, there was a rather loud _thump_ behind us. We turned to see what it was, and it surprised us both. Lying on his back, moaning after having landed on his quiver, was none other than every fan-girl's dream: Legolas of Lord of the Rings.


	2. How To Tell If A Detective Is Mad At You

**Of Dropstem and Hobbit Pipes**

**How To Tell If A Detective Is Mad At You**

I'm pretty sure that English doesn't exist in Middle Earth, but don't take my word on that. It just seems illogical to me that English would be invented in a place where French and Latin were never spoken. Even still, it seems that books have automatic language adaptors, so when characters switch from one book to another, they can speak the same language. However, that does not mean that they can communicate effectively. Even though everyone in the same room was speaking English, we couldn't understand a single word that anyone was saying.

Legolas was just the first person to drop in. He was followed by Gimli and Aragorn, both of whom smelled like they hadn't seen a bar of soap in weeks. Then came a wizard that looked eerily like Professor Dumbledore. "Please tell me you've read this book," Mr. Holmes said.

"Nope. I haven't even seen the movie because I kept falling asleep." He gave me a kind of funny look. "What? I did."

Once the characters got over their initial shock, the room was temporarily filled with enough questions to confuse Socrates. I wanted to answer some of their questions, but Mr. Holmes stepped on my foot to keep me quiet. I guess he realized that answers would only give them more questions. Smart guy. Finally, they realized that we weren't talking, or we knew nothing, and the room became dead quiet. We waited to make sure they were done before either of us did anything.

"Hi!" said I, as bright and cheerful as I could. The only response I got back was a unison blank stare. "Okay. Mr. Holmes, this is Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli." I turned to face each one in turn to let them know that I knew exactly who they were. (Which I didn't.) "Everybody from Middle Earth, this is – "

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes," Aragorn finished for me. "The world's greatest detective. It's such an honor to meet you." Hm. I guess he _is_ world famous. Or rather, inter-world famous. Now how did he manage that?

"Well, now that we know each other – " I continued, but I was cut off again.

"Who are you?" Gimli said.

"Rhiannon Phan," I answered curtly. "_Now_ that we have that down – "

"I thought your name was Rhee," Mr. Holmes cut in.

"It's _short_ for Rhiannon." By this time, I was trying to keep the irritation out of my voice, but was failing miserably. "Now, could we please – "

"Ms. Phan," Legolas interrupted. "Could you explain – "

"_Let me finish my sentence!_" Everyone in the room took a step back from my fury. Okay, I don't get mad all that often, but I don't like being ignored.

"What did you want to say?" Mr. Holmes said calmly and slowly. I swear, he had a small, smug smile on his face.

I took a deep breath before I began. "What I wanted to say is, could you," pointing at our guests, "explain how you got here if you know how. Then we can see how we can help you."

"We?"

"Shut up." Nobody was very eager to explain anything, so I volunteered someone. (I love doing that because I'm always volunteered to do things.) "Gandalf? Could you fill us in? Where were you in your story?"

"We weren't in our 'story' per se," he started. "There was another enemy that we chose to fight after the defeat of Sauron. His name was Feardorcha. He took the Orcs and the Urukhai and turned them to his will. We weren't sure how, but the only way we could tell if they were under his influence was by their silver eyes. Now, he didn't do anything with them, but simply kept them. At any time he could strike, but he chose not to."

"Instead of waiting for the inevitable, we decided to attack first," Aragorn continued. "Unfortunately, we were defeated and banished."

"This is where you were banished to," Mr. Holmes finished. "Are there more coming?" Aragorn nodded gravely. Mr. Holmes took a deep breath before going on. "Then even if Doyle or Ms. Phan writes you back to where you came from, you'll simply be sent back." He was right. Mr. Holmes looked directly at me and said, "Well?"

"Does the name Tolkien ring any bells?" I asked. Again, I got blank stares all around. Why blank stares? Can't anybody ask questions? "Okay. I'll go get Mr. Doyle."

"He'll be downstairs, but I wouldn't advise retrieving him."

I practically ran downstairs to find Dr. Watson chatting with Mrs. Hudson. As soon as they saw me, a look of horror crossed their faces. "You again?" said Mrs. Hudson.

"Me again. Dr. Watson, we kind of need Mr. Doyle in the sitting room," I said before more questions could be asked.

He muttered an expletive. "What did you do now?" Regardless of how much he seemed to dislike me at the moment, he followed me up the stairs. When he entered the sitting room, it took a few moments for him to react properly. "Who are they?"

The wizard stood up. "I am Gandalf, and this is – "

"Are they main characters?" Mr. Doyle broke in. We couldn't decide if we wanted to answer or not. "Well? Are they?"

Mr. Holmes tapped me on the shoulder, signaling that I should say something. "Um, yes. Yes they are. They're from _Lord of the Rings_. It won't be written until the mid-twentieth century."

I could almost see the smoke coming from his ears. "Where is Tamal? I'm going to kill him."

"Ms. Phan already did," Mr. Holmes so kindly volunteered. Mr. Doyle was turning redder by the second. "Hold on to something." Clearly Mr. Holmes recognized that something was wrong. He grabbed onto the mantle, so I took the other side. The others hid behind the furniture.

It was as if lightning had struck. One instant, it kind of felt silly to be hanging onto the mantle, especially since it was so hot. The next, there was a whirlwind in the center of the room, powerful enough to almost lift us off our feet. The wind picked up the furniture, tossing it around the room and at us. I could see why Mr. Holmes was so worried. "Get ready," he said. Wait, this wasn't the worst of it?

The next thing I knew, it was as if the world was split into two different dimensions. I was aware of two very different things happening at once. In the first place, the fire in the fireplace exploded outward, filling the room with its red tongues and teeth, ready to eat us alive. It destroyed the entire building in a matter of seconds, sending us into a black oblivion. Then, there was silence. I could see me, but the feeling of loneliness was overwhelming. I could see a light like a small star way above my head, but then it was extinguished, leaving me in perfect blackness.

In the second scenario, the furniture was still being tossed around, but its fury was growing. The flames were caught into the whirlwind, catching the furniture on fire. Across the room, I could see the other characters hanging onto the windows. An armchair was hurled almost directly at me, but missed me by inches, smashing into the wall behind me. I must have screamed or something, because the next thing I knew, Mr. Holmes had moved over from the other side of the mantle to make sure that I was hanging on.

These two scenes were happening at the same time and I could barely keep straight which one I was in. In both of them, I shouted, "What's going on?" In the first, I received absolutely no answer, like all living things had died. In the second, Mr. Holmes shouted that he'd explain later.

Eventually, the whirlwind died down and the two scenes melded back into one. I could still feel the bile of the solitude biting at the back of my throat. Mr. Doyle still looked angry, but he was now very pale and was acting a lot like a mannequin. He began to sway, and Mr. Holmes said, "Catch him." I ran forward on unsteady feet just in time to be there as he fell forward. Mr. Holmes helped him into a chair while I found the W.C. After losing my Kibbles and Bits, I came back to find Mr. Doyle doing just fine, maybe a little tired and a bit worse for wear, but it was him.

"What – " I started.

"It was a split reaction," Mr. Holmes said before I could even ask a question. "He does that when he wants to react two ways. Instead of choosing one scene, both occur simultaneously." Interesting. I'll have to learn how to do that so I can get revenge on him. "It's very hard on one's mentality."

I stewed a bit on the answer and decided that Mr. Doyle deserved whatever he was getting. An oubliette of despair and darkness? He is _so_ not getting away with that. "Well, that wasn't exactly the question I wanted to ask, but that's okay. I wanted to know that too."

"What did you want to know?"

"What happened to our guests?"


	3. hOW tO fIND tHE cAPS lOCK kEY

**Of Dropstem And Hobbit Pipes**

**hOW tO fIND tHE cAPS lOCK kEY**

Our four guests were nowhere to be found. Neither was the wall that faced the street. Mr. Holmes looked a little miffed that his entire chemistry set had been destroyed, Mr. Doyle wasn't too happy about the damage on the street, and I was still clueless and worried about Gandalf and Co.

"Did you didn't happen to write them back into their world, did you?" I asked Mr. Doyle.

"No. I think they just landed down there." I followed Mr. Doyle's finger as he pointed down at the street, and couldn't help but think that two stories is kind of a long distance to fall.

"So where are they now?" Mr. Doyle shrugged and wrote the repairs to the wall and Mr. Holmes's chemistry set. "Don't you care at all?"

He looked at me like I was kind of dumb. "They're gone, aren't they?"

I rolled my eyes and went to sit by the window. Mr. Holmes politely excused himself to go bother Mrs. Hudson so she would make us some tea. As I watched the traffic go by, I couldn't help but notice that something seemed a little off. These short people kept walking by. Now, I know short, and these guys were shorter than me. "Mr. Holmes?" I called. "There's something I think you should see." He came over to the window and offered me a cup of tea, which I politely declined. I pointed out the window to what I saw.

"A volcano? In London?"

"It's Mount Doom. And look down there. Those are hobbits. I think I'll go see if they want some tea."

"I'll go with you."

Just then, the sky filled with light as a crack of thunder pierced our ears. The black rain came next, pouring like buckets from the sky. So much for a sunny day. Mr. Holmes grabbed his coat and I borrowed Dr. Watson's. Before anyone asks, no, I don't have a proper coat of my own, and I didn't feel like making myself one. Dr. Watson wasn't planning on going anywhere, so we left him behind.

Within seconds, I was absolutely soaked. I wish I was as smart as Mr. Holmes so I would have thought to have brought a hat. But I didn't, and I was left with my consequences. I trudged/ran after Mr. Holmes anyway.

Mr. Holmes shouted something. "WHAT?" I shouted back

"I SAID, WHERE DID YOU SAY THEY WENT?" he called again over the rain.

After spinning around a few times to determine where I was, I decided to just go, um, _that_ way. Okay, I have absolutely no sense of direction. I was thirteen when I learned the name of the street I lived on. I know only two addresses: mine and 221b Baker Street. Mr. Holmes must have realized that right about then, but chose to go in the direction I chose because there was no other way to go.

We hitched a ride on the back of a passing carriage without too much difficulty. (Actually, that's a lie. But I'm not going to tell you about _that_ mishap.) For the rest of the journey, we rode, cold and wet, down whatever street we were on, watching the people fall away from us. (It's actually quite fun. You ought to try it.)

For the most part, we were silent since it was so hard to talk over the rain. Once in a while, Mr. Holmes would ask if I had seen anything, but I never did.

"ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT?" he asked one time.

"YEAH. . . WAIT! I THINK I SEE A HOBBIT!"

Mr. Holmes wasn't expecting that, so when I jumped off, he wasn't prepared. "GET BACK HERE!"

I took off running after what I knew had to be a hobbit, with Mr. Holmes chasing after me. I have to say that I'm not surprised that the little hobbit started running too. I heard a slight curse from Mr. Holmes as I picked up some speed. It didn't take long to corner him because he was so short. I would know. The terrified hobbit looked up at me and asked, "WHAT DO YOU WANT, SIRS?"

"Oh. . . my – how – what – my hair isn't _that_ short, is it? MY HAIR IS _NOT_ THAT SHORT!"

"WE JUST WANT TO KNOW YOUR NAME," Mr. Holmes shouted over me.

"It's the coat, isn't it?" I continued to fume.

"PEREGRIN TOOK," the hobbit answered.

"PIPPIN? WHERE ARE THE REST?" I asked, suddenly curious. I'd have to chew him out later. Pippin, though, was a bit lost for words, and looked extremely cold. With a nod, Mr. Holmes decided that it was best to find the closest shelter.

We just stepped off the sidewalk, when we felt a rumble in the street. All of us knew that it didn't bode well. Down at one end of the street, there was a growing darkness. As it came closer, the people and vehicles ran out of its way. Those that got caught were tossed away like toys. Immediately, the three of us ran in the opposite direction. Ironically, the three of us knew exactly what the ominous cloud was.

Even if we were running as fast as we possibly could, we couldn't outrun the darkness. Mr. Holmes directed us to stop and try to go down an alley. "I THOUGHT WE TOOK CARE OF THE HELENS!" Mr. Holmes yelled at me.

"ARWENS!" Pippin shrieked in fear.

"DON'T BLAME ME! THE MARY-SUES MUST HAVE COME WITH LORD OF THE RINGS!" I screamed back.

Unfortunately for me, that's about when the crowd finally caught up with us. I happened to be too close to the street. Hands snatched my coat and hair and yanked me along with it. I'm not exactly sure if the scream I heard was one of the Mary-Sues' or mine. Either way, the crowd wouldn't let go of me and I became lost in it.

Finally, they dropped me, but I was right in the center. The girls had formed a small circle around me. A particularly gorgeous one stepped out. "Where is Legolas?" she snapped. Oh. I guess they weren't trying to hide their malicious intentions from the beginning.

"I don't know. He's not even supposed to be here," I answered honestly. That earned me a kick in the side. And a few more. I've got to say, stiletto heels hurt.

"Liar! You've met him. Where is he?"

Out of everyone, how did they know that _I_ met him. Oh yeah. They're Mary-Sues, they're perfect, and they know everything. They knew that I was a Mary-Sue too. Amazing how they can do that. Dang. "He ran away. If anything, he's probably in Hyde Park."

One more thing about Mary-Sues, Helens, Arwens, or whatever you want to call them. They are highly competitive and like being right. "Kill her." Good grief.

I saw some pretty blonde girl come at me with a gun, but a familiar silver mist covered my eyes. Within seconds, the gun was gone, and my mind was completely lost.

* * *

I snapped awake in some unfamiliar environment. For some reason, I was already sitting up in a cheap chair, and a sharp scent still lingered in my nose. There was an old, tinny piano playing in the background, and I could tell with my blurry vision that the place was dirty with the scum of London. "Relax, Rhiannon," someone ordered. Now that wasn't Mr. Holmes.

"Aragorn?"

"Oh good. You're awake," said Mr. Holmes. "How do you feel?"

"Like I swallowed some powerful hydrochloric acid," I answered. "What happened?"

"You killed them all," Legolas said cheerfully. Hydrochloric acid suddenly decided to come back up. "I suppose I can't say that exactly. They disintegrated as soon as you touched them."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?!?"

"Calm down, Rhiannon," Aragorn commanded.

"HOW CAN I WHEN I KNOW I COULD BLAST OUT OF CONTROL AT ANY SECOND!" Silence enveloped the entire place and everyone looked at me. My vision was good enough now to tell where I was. A pub. "I'm going to go in a that-a-way direction." The two men on either side of me pushed me back down into my seat. I wanted to fight, but after realizing that there were now five men and four hobbits, all older than me, I decided that I was outnumbered.

The music began again and the rest of the patrons went back to their drinking and singing. Eventually, Mr. Holmes decided to say something to break up our group's uneasy silence. "Er, so, what is the plan of action?"

The hobbits were still in shock. "She has silver eyes," one of them whispered. He was exceptionally pale and innocent. I took him to be Frodo.

"Yeah," I said in a 'Duh' sort of way. I set my elbow on the table and held up my hand, showing off my sprained wrist. "Do you want me to explain? Actually, I won't. Mr. Holmes can. The last time I did that, someone disappeared. Speaking of which, have you seen – "

"Ms. Phan," Mr. Holmes cut me off. "This is not the time."

"Okay. Okay. Whatever you say." Effectively depressed, I let my head sink into my hands and the discussions continued without me. It seemed that they were better suited to counsel when a woman wasn't involved, especially one as radical and independent as me.

I'm not sure how long anything lasted. I barely caught whatever was talked about. Everything ended, though, after I got the munchies. (Munchies: noun; hunger and/or craving for food, food, junk food, eclairs, and more food.) After sneaking away from the table, I made myself some food, namely gala apples, oranges, and strawberries. I was just about to take a bite from a sweet, juicy apple, when I heard a voice say, "How did you do that?" in amazement.

I turned around to find two hobbits, Merry and Pippin, looking hungrily at my food. "Orange?" I offered. They eagerly accepted the strange fruit and we sat down at a small, unoccupied table. I think I made a couple of lifelong friends right there. They seemed as hungry as I was, but nobody eats more than me. Just for the record, we were eating _nutritious_ munchies. (Munchies: noun; food stuffs eaten when one gets said munchies.)

Finally, the other men decided that we were finished. They surrounded our little table, and without a word, we all left in unison.


	4. How To Improvise Anything

**Of Dropstem and Hobbit Pipes**

**How to Improvise Anything**

There's something everybody needs to know about carefully thought out plans: they never flippin' work! Something always goes wrong, forcing the planner to adjust or think of something new. More often than not, everything comes down to your ability to improvise. I believe that those who make the most precise plans are arrogant and tend to fail often. Why waste time making a plan when its going to change anyway?

Mr. Holmes and I don't really see eye to eye.

He came up with an ingenious scheme involving Mount Doom, conquering our new nemesis, getting rid of the Arwens, and sending all foreign characters back to where they belong – all at the same time. It was brilliant. I hated it.

"There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of, Ms. Phan. Everything will go according to plan. I'm sure of it."

"_I'm_ not, Mr. Holmes!"

"You will not be hurt, we promise," said Legolas. "We'll get you back soon."

Blond. "What's this? You're going to let me be taken? No one said anything about that!"

"They weren't supposed to," Gandalf muttered.

"You will be safest with your own kind," Aragorn tried to reason.

"My own – Hey! They tried to kill me!"

"Not the Arwens, foolish child." Gandalf pointed down the street. A dark mass moved up the road, growling and snarling. Regardless of their distance, I could still smell the rot.

"_Orcs?_ _Silver eyed Orcs?_ Not gonna happen."

Aragorn pulled me back. "Generally I wouldn't ask this of anyone, but this is the perfect opportunity to infiltrate Feardorcha's stronghold. I know you can do this."

"If there's one policy I've always followed, it's rule number seventy-eight of the Rogue's Handbook: Getting captured can be a good way to learn your enemy's weaknesses, but _investigate all other alternatives first_."

"You can trust us."

This would be where their brilliant plan failed. Even thought it was never going to happen anyway, the guys never got a chance to give me any supplies before the massive hoard of Orcs attacked our little troop. I really can't say why we didn't see them coming. It seemed pretty obvious to me. (Mr. Holmes said later that they could apparate. I told him that was 100 percent bull and that he wasn't paying attention. Then he said it was my fault. Then I said – oh, never mind.)

Anyway, while in the midst of our ferocious battle, I saw one Orc take a good swing at Mr. Holmes. I dragged him away since he was stunned. "Wake up Mr. Holmes. _Wake up!_"

"I'm up! Get off me!"

I think this was the point when someone grabbed the back of my coat and dragged me through the mud to wherever. Understandably, I was scared, so I dragged Mr. Holmes along with me. In truth, I don't have the strength required to pull a man like him fifty feet.

* * *

"You realize this is your fault, don't you?" 

"I can't possibly think of why."

"Had you just gone along with the plan – "

"_I_ wasn't planning on being kidnaped. Do you honestly think I ever would?"

"I was preparing for a worst case scenario. The others must have misunderstood."

"Oh. So no plans for anyone else."

"No. I never got that far. Now hold still, will you!"

Mr. Holmes began fiddling with the ropes that bound us back-to-back in our chairs. I couldn't help but be reminded of Indiana Jones. Mr. Holmes seemed fairly confident that he could free us, except that he was becoming increasingly irritated at me.

"Stop moving!"

"I'm sorry! My wrist burns and my hands are swollen. I have to move!"

Our heated whispers bounced off the surrounding stone walls. A guard or something growled in the hall outside the door, and we became quiet again. For the most part.

"I think I've got it. Hang on." Something snapped, a load of ropes fell, and Mr. Holmes jumped up. "Oh good! A window."

"What about me? Mr. Holmes. . . "

"One moment. . . " I could see him examining the land outside. We were both knocked out and blindfolded when we were brought in. "We're on a mountain of some sort," he said as he untied my hands. "I think you could get out. Could you find your way back?"

I wanted to ask him what he was going to do, but I couldn't say anything. A familiar silver mist covered my vision. "Ms. Phan? Are you alright?" I shook my head as hard as I could. He caught my silver eyes. "This was why it was too easy."

My body pitched forward and my vision completely disappeared. When I felt I had control again, I stood up and looked around, but I wasn't really back. "Welcome to the recesses of your mind," a dark voice echoed.

"This isn't mine," I answered. "It's yours. Where are you?"

A young man with raven black hair and a silver uniform, appeared. "This place is ours."

"Alright. What's your name?" He wouldn't answer me. "Don't you have a name?"

"I do," he said defensively.

"Alright," I conceded. "I'll just have to call you Jake. So Jake, I suppose you know all about Mr. Holmes and me."

"No." He was quiet. "Not everything. But I suppose that's because you don't."

I felt a sharp pain in my head. I screamed and collapsed. I could almost see 'Jake' standing over me, gloating. "Goodbye, Rhiannon." He lunged at me with a knife in his hand, intent on killing me. I dodged it as best I could, and punched him in the face.

Suddenly, I was back. Mr. Holmes had laid me on the ground and was now picking the lock on the door. I sat up as best I could, and _yeesh_, I had a headache. "How long was I out?"

Mr. Holmes seemed to be expecting that. "A minute or two." The lock clicked, and he looked out in the hallway. "The guards are gone. They don't expect you to get away. If you go out the window, I will explore this place."

"But what if I can't? Jake won't let me."

"Jake? Who is – oh. He has a name?"

"Yeah, but if he won't give it to me, I'll give him one of my own."

"You have a tendency to do that." He stepped into the hall. "Either way, you might as well follow me. Perhaps you can write a few defenses."

The hall was dark and dank, but that wasn't why I shivered. I couldn't help but feel that we were being followed, so I wrote a stone wall behind us every five feet. Mr. Holmes didn't think it was necessary, and he kind of glared at me every time I did, but I was scared. That trumps all. "Do you have a plan?" I asked him, with a tinge of sarcasm in my voice.

"The others _were_ going to kill their little nemesis while I destroy his stronghold, but due to current circumstances, we must improvise." My favorite word.

Just then, the building was rocked by a loud rumble. It wasn't groundbreaking, but it did unsteady us. "I think I know where we are."

"Feardorcha's stronghold?"

"Well, Mount Doom, but same thing. How did you know?" He pointed straight ahead at a skeletal, cloaked figure. "Oh." I could see the mechanics going to work in Mr. Holmes' head, formulating an attack plan. My head, on the other hand, only went through a flight-or-flight response, and in the next instant, a wall was right in front of us.

"You didn't have to do that!" Mr. Holmes told me. The demon or whatever it was, began pounding on the wall, causing dust and rocks to come out. "Now what?" he said in annoyance. "Should we suffocate?" I grabbed his sleeve and ran straight through the wall behind us. I was about to run through the next wall, but Mr. Holmes had a better idea. Just as the wall we had come through, came down, he had picked the lock and gotten us through a rather convenient dungeon door.

I waited for the door to fall over, but the demon didn't even bother with it. He went straight through the next wall. Mr. Holmes already knew he was going to do that, so he was busy with whatever he was doing.

"Watch the hall," Mr. Holmes said. No, it was more of a command.

I turned around for a moment to see what he was up to. Scattered across the floor was our bruised and battered adventuring party.

"Oh. Carry on."


	5. How To Destroy Anything And Everything

**Of Dropstem and Hobbit Pipes**

**How To Destroy Anything and Everything**

"I'm guessing a doctor would be really handy right now," I muttered. I may have been steadfastly watching the traffic coming down the hall, but Mr. Holmes' certainly made himself clear as he swore under his breath about the state of our companions.

"Yes, Rhiannon Phan, it would be. Shut up."

I rolled my eyes and kept watching the hall. A few minutes later, after Mr. Holmes managed to revive the Fellowship, I spotted a black cloaked figure storming down the hall. I slammed the door shut and barely managed to choke out, "Feardorcha!"

Mr. Holmes jumped up and pulled me over behind the door just as it swung open. In swanned Feardorcha himself, gloating over his latest victory. I think he was especially happy that all his captives in the room were awake and coherent enough to be humiliated. "I finally have the Fellowship within my grasp, and do you know what I'm going to do next? You will all be turned into mindless drones and. . ."

And yadda yadda yadda. Basic nemesis, villain, antagonist stuff. You know, the kind that gets their butts kicked in the end. I don't know why, but no one seems to have read the Evil Overlord's handbook lately. Don't gloat until victory is absolutely certain, or the hero is right in front of you dead, with an arrow or a bullet in his brain.

"That is–" I said without realizing it, and Mr. Holmes clapped his hand over my mouth. I guess he knew I had an irresistible, compelling need to complain.

Feardorcha swung around, trying to find the source of the sound. Since it came from behind him, he assumed it came from the hallway and left, swirling his great black cloak as he dramatically slammed the door shut.

As soon as I knew he was gone for good, I took a deep breath and said, "That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard. It pretty much guarantees that we're going to win, and here he is gloating. Seriously, has he never read _anything?_ Or maybe he's just read too many cheesy comic books."

"Are you done?" Mr. Holmes cut in.

"No. And what's more, that is the _stupidest_ name I have ever heard. Feardorcha. Doesn't even flow. What idiot thought it up. Can't imagine any sane parent naming their poor boy that."

The room stared at me for a minute or two. I could have cut the awkward silence with a knife. Or my car keys. I had those in my pocket. I really should have tried.

"Um, I'm done now."

"Gimli," Mr. Holmes jumped in. "What do you know about this building?"

He thought for a moment, a little confused at the sudden switch in topics, then said, "This fortress is very weak. If, say, Mount Doom erupted, this place would fall."

"Perfect. With a few explosives in the right places, you lot can bring down the fortress. As for Ms. Phan and I, we have a small score to settle." Before I knew it, he had dragged me out the door. I got the slight impression that he didn't like them much.

* * *

"Um, where are we going?" 

"To find your notebook. It has to be here somewhere."

"And you know where it is?"

"You have to find it before – "

An earthquake hit. Beneath our feet, the stones crumbled, and the walls caved in around us. We ran for our lives to beat the collapsing hallway. I wrote in supports and open doors everywhere I could, and Mr. Holmes still tried to make an effort to find my notebook. Eventually, though, my provisions weren't enough to keep us safe and I had to force Mr. Holmes to move on. He kept doing this though, searching for my notebook or places where a notebook could be hidden.

"Before _what_ exactly?" I yelled at him as I pushed him through a newly opened door.

"Isn't it obvious?" he shouted back from another room.

"Just let the notebook get destroyed! We have to get out of here with our lives! Mr. Holmes!"

"Aha! A map. Oh, classic. Feardorcha must get lost. Look: 'You are here.'"

We had been stopped in one spot to long. The floor gave way and we had no opportunity to get away. We fell to the ground below and avoided what debris we could. Honestly, we were lucky to be alive.

"_Were_ here," I corrected. "This is spectacular, Mr. Holmes, but the place is falling down around us. We're gonna get killed!" I found a solid doorway and dragged Mr. Holmes along with me

"No, this way." He pulled me down another hall, though this time he was a lot more careful about the debris. Just because he seemed confident in his choice of pathways, I trusted him. I guess Feardorcha nicely labeled where he had stashed my notebook.

Mr. Holmes finally found a section of the fortress that was steady enough to take a break. I sat down against the wall to catch my breath, and almost fell asleep.

"Alright," he said, "let's go."

"What? I just sat down!" But he was already off and away and all I could do was follow. I do that a lot.

We seemed to have found the center-most part of the fortress. It was the most steady, so it was easy to navigate. Well, kind of. All the Shadow Beasts had taken refuge here, or at lest as many that had survived. Either way, we spent most our time distracting them. (It's surprising how much the sound of a tossed pebble sounds like footsteps.)

Mr. Holmes found a door that he was pretty sure held my notebook. He actually found the treasury with a fair amount of silver. While he went inside, I found myself another door; more specifically, an unlocked door. Inside, I found an armory, filled with the smell fo dried blood. Curiosity got the better of me, so I started poking around. Hidden behind a couple swords and my katana, was my notebook.

"Hey, Mr. Holmes! I found it!" I spun around to find myself face-to-face with Feardorcha. I screamed until the world went dark and I knew no more.

* * *

I'm still not sure exactly how long I was out of it. During that time, 'Jake' and I sat in silence for so long. Neither of us wanted to say anything. Then, he suddenly said, "Dorian." Then all was silent again. 

Also during this time, Mr. Holmes kept busy. He had enough time to accidentally lock himself in the Treasury, get out of the Treasury, figure out that I had been caught, happen to find my Katana, notice that Feardorcha was keeping my notebook, find out where I was being held, realize that there was no safe route out of the fortress, figure out the Shadow Beasts' weakness, run back to the Treasury, climb up and into my window, and most importantly of all, tell me he was right. All while I'm out of it. Give the man a hand.

The first thing I knew, something was placed around my neck that burned like no other. Jake and I screamed in pain, desperately needing it to go away. We must have screamed forever for our lives until it was just me screaming for the burning to stop. Slowly, the pain lessened to the point I could inhale.

"Ms. Phan? Is that you?" Mr. Holmes asked. I inhaled sharply. "No, don't scream again."

I let my air out slowly. I felt sticky and sweaty, but I knew that I was back. There were burns all around my neck where a delicate intricate necklace hung. I must say, Mr. Holmes has great taste.

'Are you ready to go?"

"Out the window?" I rasped. Screaming takes its toll on me. "No."

"Too bad." He promptly picked me up and tossed me out the window.

Oh, yeah. He had time to find the Fellowship too.

Legolas caught me at the base of the tower and carried me away. It was entirely unnecessarily romantic, except I was pissed and ready to shoot Mr. Holmes. We met up with the Fellowship, who, with the exception of Gandalf and Legolas, looked a lot like chimney sweepers. I guess gunpowder's a little messy.

"The building should collapse completely in a few moments," Gimli said proudly.

"What about Mr. Holmes? He's still up there," I said.

"I'm right here." Mr. Holmes emerged from the dust and shadows with a heavy sack on his back. He set it down with a _clang!_ and passed around the objects to our group. Silver stuff from the treasury.

"What are we to do with this?" asked Merry – or was it Pippin?

"The Shadow Beasts can't stand silver. So be creative."

"But what does it do?" the other asked.

"It – " I turned to Legolas. "Are you going to put me down? I'm not on display here." He did so, and I continued. "Thank you. It burns like to other to the point that it can kill the Shadow Beast. See?" I lifted up my necklace and the group recoiled in disgust. "Is it really that bad?"

"Use these as a last resort," Mr. Holmes continued. "If you can avoid them, do."

"Spectacular," I said. "So what's next?"


	6. How To Play With Matches

**Of Dropstem and Hobbit Pipes**

**How To Play With Matches**

Okay, it was Mr. Holmes' idea. Not mine. Well, I helped. A bit. Okay, a lot.

But it was his idea.

Mr. Holmes noticed that once the fortress was destroyed, London came back in its place like nothing had ever happened. Even the Sporks (i.e. Shadow Beast infected orcs) couldn't touch the restored or preserved areas. They did, however, spread the infection when they could. What London needed was an antibiotic.

But how do you destroy a volcano?

Mr. Holmes decided to begin with some anti-bacterial soap. Get rid of the Sporks and the re-appearing Mary-Sues, Helens, and Arwens in the same blow. And while we're at it, let's use the volcano to our advantage. I love how Mr. Holmes thinks these things up because I get to shoot them down.

"Who says they'll follow me? Nobody likes me anyway."

"While that's true, you'll have Legolas to your advantage. So stop whining, get up there and get their attention."

I was grudgingly deposited in London with the Mary Sues. I wanted to just run, but one look from Mr. Holmes told me otherwise. I whispered to the closest Helen I could find, exactly what Mr. Holmes told me. "I know where you can find Legolas. I'm going there to meet him. Keep it secret, okay?" I turned around and walked away to Mount Doom knowing full well that I was being followed.

_Secret_. It's the one word that can spark a bonfire. Nothing spreads faster in a gaggle of gossiping girls. I knew well enough.

I started running when I saw the first Sporks. The word spread around that I was an escaped prisoner, and they started running after me too. The Helens helped by pulling the Sporks into their crowd.

We saw Legolas at the opening into the volcano. The sight of him prompted everyone to run even faster, especially me. I had to beat them all or neither of us would survive.

I met up with Legolas and he started running with me. "Quite a crowd you're gathered," he commented. I was trying to conserve energy for my run, so I couldn't answer. We found a small niche to hide in with a rope waiting for us. Legolas went up first to help Mr. Holmes and Aragorn pull me up. I have to say, he's fast.

I grabbed the rope and was lifted up until I felt something grab my ankle. The Mary Sues had found me. "You're, like, not gonna go, like, anywhere." _BLONDES!_ Just the thought of it strengthened my resolve. I kicked them with all my might, but they wouldn't let go. They were getting too strong for everyone up top, and finally, between the tensions, I had to let go.

My Uncle tells me that when you get in an accident – like when he hit a car on his motorcycle – everything goes slow. To everyone else, the events happen too fast to properly react to, but he sees everything so slow. He has the time to think a few things through, such as how he's going to explain it to his wife. He's right.

I tried to think how I was going to keep from being killed, then how I could kill Feardorcha, then how I was going to shoot Mr. Holmes for this crazy scheme, then I remembered that I was an author. Right before impact, I screamed something intelligible and _poof!_ Found myself up top with Mr. Holmes, Aragorn and Legolas.

"Look," Mr. Holmes said, "they're pushing themselves in. The sheer mass won't let them stop, so they simply kill themselves."

Their screaming sent a cold shiver up and down my spine. Just the though made me. . . Then for the first time in my life, I fainted properly and collapsed.

* * *

When I came back around, I found myself in a horse-drawn cab with my head between my knees and a blanket over my shoulders. "Can I sit up?"

Mr. Holmes leaned over to look at my pale face. He seemed a little wary about the idea. "Not if you're dizzy."

"Okiedoke." I pulled the blanket closer around me. "Where are we going?"

"The hospital. You're a little worse for wear."

"No. I'm hungry. I want to eat." I sat up despite a wave of vertigo. "Do you want to eat?"

He laughed. "Yes. Yes I do. You've seen too much of hospitals, haven't you?"

The cab stopped and we to gout at the hospital. "I don't like hospitals. And the food is horrible."

Despite my protests, Mr. Holmes was determined to get me inside and get me some help. He pretty much dragged me the entire way. I don't care how much hospitals have changed in the past century, they're all still the same: stark white, hollow healers, and the haunt of death follows you around.

"Something doesn't seem right," Mr. Holmes suddenly said. "Too mechanical."

"What are you talking about?"

"Haven't you noticed? The personnel are too mechanical. See?"

Me? Pay attention? When? He was right, though. Everyone walked in rhythm: _Right, Left, Right, Left._ No running to emergencies, no chatting in the halls, no patients. "Can we leave now?"

Mr. Holmes ignored me and stopped a Doctor to look in his eyes. "Silver," he confirmed.

"But Shadowbeasts don't move like this."

"Unless they've evolved into pure soldiers. This hospital alone can house an army."

"An army for what? He's invaded this story and created armies out of the characters. He can't be wanting to take over _this_ story."

"No, he wants the world. Except these stories cannot escape into your world."

"Maybe he doesn't know that." I turned around to find a way out, but all the exits were blocked by the personnel. We'd waited too long. "Um, so what now?"

"Well, obviously, we run." He grabbed my hand with the uninjured wrist, and we took off down the hall.

"I got that," I puffed. "I meant _where?_"

The personnel came after us, destroying everything we threw at them. They were even stronger than we thought. I knew Mr. Holmes was choosing halls at random when I realized we were running away from any real exits. I found some stairs and pulled Mr. Holmes down with me, much to his dissatisfaction.

"The way out is _up there!_ Away from the basement!"

We finally found the door to the room I wanted. We slid inside and slammed it shut just as the army reached the door. Mr. Holmes pushed against it to keep the mindless personnel out while I scurried around to find items to barricade the door.

"I'm starting to think this whole set-off-to-find-trouble thing is counter-intuitive," I said as I pushed a desk in front of the door, followed by a chair.

"Certainly wasn't the original plan," Mr. Holmes snapped back.

"Either way, we're getting pretty good at it. Okay, that should hold it."

The door shook for a bit as we stepped away, threatening to open. We held our breaths as the slamming continued for a moment, then relaxed when we realized the barricade would hold.

"Perfect. No way in our out. Where are we anyway?" Mr. Holmes asked.

"The Morgue."

Mr. Holmes spun around in horror, and sure enough, there were the bodies to prove me right. "You locked us in a crypt!"

"Well, you followed me."

"Of all places!" He looked at me like I was an idiot.

"It's not_ that_ bad once you get used to the fact that all these people used to breathe and they were killed by horrible diseases that probably – "

"Shut up and help me find a way out," he said cooly.

"Yeesh. Okay, if there's one thing I know about morgues, it's that they've go to be emptied out somehow. I also know that hospitals and morgues don't exactly like to think that the other exists in the same building."

"The bodies can't go through the hospital, so there must be another door!"

"Hoo-rah!"

"So help me find it."

I pointed down the long aisle of cold bodies. At the end stood a harsh metal door. "You're not _scared_, are you?"

"Are you?" he asked confidently.

I marched down the aisle, and I have to admit, it was the longest walk of my life. I couldn't see anything but blue feet, but I knew they were watching me. As soon as I reached the door, I swung it open as fast as I could. A massive hoard of silver-eyed doctors met me with a roar and many scalpels. "Nope." I slammed the door, locked it, and ran right back to Mr. Holmes. "Windows."

We very enthusiastically smashed a few small windows right by the ceiling. If only Morgues weren't in basements. Thankfully, no one was waiting for us, so we climbed out with very little difficulty. (Actually, that's a lie, but I'm not telling _anyone_ about_ that_ fiasco.) Mr. Holmes hijacked a cab, and we were gone.

* * *

Just a question. Is there such a thing as cab-jacking? Like car-jacking, but with a cab? 


	7. How To Create A Climax

**Of Dropstem and Hobbit Pipes**

**How To Create A Climax  
**

"Two-two-one be or not two-two-one be? That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune (such as Sherlock Holmes), Or to take arms against a sea of troubles (like an army of Shadow Soldiers), And by opposing end them?"

"Don't. You don't even know what Hamlet is talking about, and you get _really_ tiring _really_ fast."

"So tell me where we're going."

"Feardorcha is still alive. If he wants power, where does he go?"

"He finds his author. And since he's been cut off from his author and he can't get to me, he's going to find. . . oh. 221b Baker Street it is, then." I sat back in my seat and enjoyed the ride. (Mr. Holmes is a very reckless driver.) (Don't try this at home.) (Really.)

It was nice to see Baker Street without any Mary-Sues, and I'm glad it has stayed that way. Mr. Holmes is too. He stopped the cab by nearly tipping it over. I leaped out as Mr. Holmes jumped off, and it's a good thing we did because it collapsed when it came to a complete stop.

Mr. Holmes took the steps two at a time and didn't bother to wait for me. I did hurry, but by the time I got inside, he was already in the sitting room. I could hear voices coming from upstairs. One I recognized as Mr. Holmes. The other raspy one had to be Feardorcha. "Where is the girl?" he screamed at Mr. Holmes.

"Rhiannon Phan," Mr. Holmes bluntly corrected, "is dead. She fell in the volcano with the rest of the Helens."

Wait, I'm dead? Oh, right. I took this as my signal _not_ to make a racket or enter the room. So I crawled up the seventeen steps as slowly as I possibly could. If anyone like Mr. Holmes or Doctor Watson or even Mrs. Hudson had been watching, I would have been sufficiently embarrassed even more than I was scared. When I reached the top, I put my ear next to the crack of the door and listened in. "The girl isn't dead, Holmes. You forget, I have her character in my hands. I would know if she was dead."

"I didn't forget anything. You, on the other hand – "

"Feardorcha does not forget!"

While Mr. Holmes stalled by arguing about memory or the lack thereof, I opened the door just slightly to see Feardorcha and Mr. Holmes standing by the fireplace. More importantly, I saw Mr. Doyle, silver-eyed and empty, sitting by the window. Feardorcha turned to the door, apparently hearing something. I got up and pressed myself against the wall just before the door burst open. My heart threatened to come out of my chest. Feardorcha looked out, and apparently satisfied, went back inside. "Must have been a stray cat."

"Oh. . . yes. They come in all the time. I keep telling Mrs. Hudson to keep the door to the kitchen locked, but the cats still get in. They just love the kitchen with all that silver. They just love that silver cutlery in the fourth drawer from the left. And the kettle on the mantle. They're particularly nasty with Watson's pocket watch, which he generally keeps in his right coat pocket."

"Your words are madness, Holmes," Feardorcha said.

I touched the right pocket of my coat and felt the watch Mr. Holmes was talking about. I suddenly knew what he was saying. "Those idiot cats are so quiet, you'd never know they were milling about, stealing the silver to fight those nasty shadows."

Was he calling me an idiot? Oh, I am _so_ going to shoot him!

I snuck downstairs and found Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen. Without a word, I began emptying the silver into my coat pockets. Mrs. Hudson didn't really want to help, but she found me some more silver. I practically took out the drawers and dumped everything out. The last thing I grabbed was the kettle off the mantle.

"Is Mr. Holmes alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked as I went out the door. I stopped in my tracks. "What about Doctor Watson?"

I shook my head. "I don't know." And I left.

The climb up the stairs took longer than I expected since the idiot cat had to be so quiet. I felt like I was making enough noise to compete with a marching band, but nothing ever happened. I reached the top of the steps without incident, so I felt brave enough to open the door slightly and peek in.

"Cats cannot make that much noise!" Feardorcha stomped his foot, making the floor quiver.

Mr. Holmes rolled his eyes in frustration. "_This is too easy_," he whispered. "You'd be surprised how clumsy those big, dumb cats can be. Especially if they were stupid enough to drop the silver."

What was he talking about? I think he overestimated my ability to understand code. I got the silver, what now? I backed away from the door, but something caught my foot – probably the rug – and I stumbled. I caught myself, but dropped some of the silver silverware. Every piece cascaded down the steps like a waterfall, sounding like a gunshot every time they hit something.

"That wasn't a cat," Feardorcha said, finally gathering some intelligence after the clamor ceased. The door opened and he saw me. "You're not dead!" he said in amazement. Wow. He _did_ believe Mr. Holmes.

Rather than give him a brilliant witty remark, I did the only thing I could do. I took the kettle in both hands and swung as hard as I could. Feardorcha's jaw cracked with a _clang!_ He just stood before me, motionless, for a moment, then keeled over – completely out cold.

"That wasn't exactly what I was thinking of, but it works," Mr. Holmes said from behind me.

"Well, I'm not exactly a cat person and furthermore – " I elbowed him in the gut – "Stop calling me an idiot. Now, what are we going to do about Mr. Doyle?" Mr. Holmes couldn't do anything but wheeze in response. I swear, I didn't hit him that hard. Well, maybe. I do have sharp elbows. Anyway, I went into the sitting room and found Mr. Doyle sitting like he had before: blank and possessed. "Spectacular."

Mr. Holmes was still wheezing. Oh, come on! It's not like I hit him in the throat! "Watch," he finally said.

"Watch what? Oh." I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out Dr. Watson's pocket watch. The silver was beautifully hand-carved, probably a family heirloom. It seemed such a pity that it was to be turned into a weapon.

I placed the watch in Mr. Doyle's hand and held it closed. I could smell the burning flesh as Mr. Doyle screamed for his life. "I want you out of him, Shadow Beast," I shouted. "I've got more silver, and I'm not afraid to use it." Actually, that was a lie since most of it had fallen down the stairs and the last bit I had was the kettle, and Mr. Holmes was brandishing it in case Feardorcha woke up. But he didn't need to know that.

"Stupid girl!" he screeched. I saw his other hand come at me and the next thing I knew, I was on my back, on the ground, and on top of a fork. Ow! I sat up rather painfully to see him transforming into the whole Shadow Beast monster. I scooted away as best I could, kind of like Harry Potter in The Sorcerer's Stone when he's facing the troll. I've never understood why, until now, he couldn't just get up and run.

Mr. Holmes helped pick me up off the floor, and we were going to vamoose, except Feardorcha just woke up. He couldn't really talk because of his jaw, so he just kind of growled. We were stuck back-to-back between two monsters.

"Ideas?" I whispered.

"Just one." Mr. Holmes. I felt him undo the clasp of my necklace.

"No, Mr. Holmes, _don't!_" But it was too late. I could already feel Jake taking over, transforming me into the Beast that Mr. Doyle already was. I could feel my bones breaking, reshaping, and strengthening. I felt stretched and elongated, but no matter how much pain I felt, I wouldn't give in. I refused to relinquish my control.

_Rhiannon, let me go!_ a voice said in my head.

_I can't do that, Jake,_ I responded. _I can't let you hurt him._

_Rhee, you can trust me. I promise I won't hurt Mr. Holmes._

_No I can't! You were created to be a murderer!_

_Rhee, I promise! Just let me get you out of here!_

"Ms. Phan," Mr. Holmes said, "trust him."

I thought it over for a moment and eventually said, "Fine. If you die, it's your fault." I closed my eyes and let the fire in my mind envelope my senses.

Jake went crazy, but in a good way. If I had his power, I probably would have done the same thing. He went after Feardorcha, tearing at his face, his eyes, his neck, anything. Feardorcha screamed like a little girl and tried hitting us back, but he only slapped and scratched at me – nothing dangerous. He is such a two-dimensional character. He can't even think or fight; he just looks scary. When it comes to the test, he falls flat on his face.

By the time Jake had finished with Feardorcha, almost nothing was left of him. Then we moved on to Mr. Doyle. "Get out!" Jake shouted. "Get out or I swear, I will pull you out and eat you!" It really did sound threatening, but he was saying it in their language which, if you heard it, makes the room icy cold. I could even see my breath as Jake was talking.

"Would you really?" Mr. Doyle, or rather the Shadow Beast possessing Mr. Doyle, shot back. "You're already a traitor and a dead man, Dorian. You can't do anything."

The Beast wouldn't leave Mr. Doyle, so Jake counted to three and lashed out. My arms went through Mr. Doyle, but caught on the Shadow beast. Jake yanked him out and did as he said he would do: he ate him. Every bit. Had I been in control, I would have stuffed the Beast into the silver kettle and left him to rot. But I wasn't, and I just knew I was going to have a stomachache.

I felt Jake pulling back and my body reshaped to its original form. When he was done, I was on my knees in a pool of blood. Feardorcha's blood. It was then that I realized exactly what I had let Jake do.

"Ms. Phan?" Even Mr. Holmes' voice couldn't break me out of my spell. I continued to stare at the wall, unaware of anything else happening around me, such as Mr. Doyle coming to, Mr. Holmes putting the silver necklace back around my neck, Mr. Doyle cleaning up the mess, or Jake standing behind Mr. Holmes who was kneeling in front of me.

"What did I do?" I whispered.

"The only thing you could do." I know Mr. Holmes was trying to help, but, yeah. I touched my cheek and found that it was wet. "I think you're in shock. Come on, you need some rest."

He helped me stand up, but my knees buckled under my own weight. I used him as my balance as he led me to the couch. Mr. Doyle, now Dr. Watson, gave me a sedative, but I probably didn't need it since I felt tired enough to doze off right then and there. I took it anyway, and instantly, I was asleep.


	8. How To End A Story Dramatically

**Of Dropstem and Hobbit Pipes**

**How To End A Story Dramatically**

When I woke up the next morning, I could smell pipe smoke and eggs and I noticed that someone had taken my coat and draped a blanket over me. That was nice of him. After a few minutes of just lying there, I realized that I had forgotten something, and I felt very guilty for not remembering until now.

I shot off the couch, surprising Mr. Holmes who was eating breakfast and had saved some food for me. "Who stepped on your grave?"

"Baylei," I said through my hands as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.

"Baylei Bryan walked on your grave?"

"No, I forgot all about her. She's still missing. She was probably a Mary-Sue, and she might have gotten stuck with the others. Oh, crap, I hope I didn't kill her."

"Eat some breakfast, Ms. Phan. She's perfectly fine."

"How do you know!"

"Because she's not here in London. She's somewhere in Middle Earth. Now sit down and eat before you collapse again."

"Hypocrite," I muttered as I obeyed. Actually, the food was wonderful. Eggs and toast and fruit, and I'm not really a coffee person, but I had some to keep me awake. "And again, how do you know?"

"I checked," he said in his _duh_ sort of way. "You were out for quite a while."

"You checked? I thought you hated her."

"Don't start."

"Thank you. Oh, and these eggs are wonderful. I'll have to thank Mrs. Hudson."

"Mrs. Hudson can't cook worth dirt."

"_You_ cooked? Wow. No wonder you never eat anything in the stories."

"Well, as the saying goes, if I want something done right, I have to do it myself."

Sherlock Holmes the Cook. I never imagined. I knew that in at least one story, he did a bit of cooking, but breakfast really brought it to life. Well, we all knew he was talented.

"I'm going to have to go get Baylei. I wonder what Middle Earth is like. It's probably a lot like England."

"We'll know when we get there."

"Wait, you're coming? You didn't want to before."

"Seeing Middle Earth in my sitting room has made me curious as to what the real Middle Earth is like. Besides, you'd get into too much trouble without me and probably get yourself killed."

"Excuse me? A lot of that is _you_, your ideas, your plans."

"But not most. Hurry up and finish."

* * *

I'm not exactly sure where we ended up. Maybe if one of us had thought to bring a map, or a book, or a book with a map, we would be better off. But since we didn't, we resorted to the next best thing: blaming each other. When that got us nowhere, we agreed to blame Baylei, and as soon as we returned to our separate homes, I would pound her. 

Lucky for us, Mr. Holmes spotted some sort of crowd, maybe and army, in the distance. They looked like they were moving towards us, so he decided that we needed to ask for directions. When they got closer, I realized that they were actually Orcs.

"You want to talk to an army of Orcs?" I asked incredulously.

"No, you do."

"What!"

"You're a Helen, Mary-Sue, whatever. They'll listen to you."

"No, they're Orcs. They'll see my gorgeous looks and assume that I'm Legolas's girlfriend. Then they'll kidnap me and hold me for ransom so my one true love from Middle Earth, or Victorian London, whichever you prefer, can come and rescue me. Then we'll ride off into the sunset on our valiant steeds and live happily ever after, or at least until I'm kidnaped again."

Mr. Holmes gave me a weird look for a very long time. "You've written one too many of these stories, haven't you."

"Well, I, um _ahem_ read them too. Don't know why. I should probably stop."

"Yes. Do."

The army was close enough to see us two lone figures in the field, and I could smell their maggoty bread. I had my giant black messenger bag with me, which I had conveniently left behind in Mr. Holmes's sitting room when I left to find the hobbits. So, I had one weapon, although I think I lacked the strength to use it effectively. I made a mental note to leave it behind the next time I did anything stupid like this.

The army stopped in its tracks when they came to us. Mr. Holmes nudged me in the back to make me step forward. "You're a Helen," he whispered. "You can do anything."

"Um, hi? How's it going. I'm looking for an Arwen. Maybe you've heard of her?" I could see the army tensing, ready to attack. "Her name is Baylei Bryan. She's a friend of mine, kind of obsessive, does stupid stuff, especially to humiliate you guys. Do you know where she is?" The Orcs looked even more vicious, loosening their swords and glaring daggers at me. "Oh, you do. That's great."

The Orcs let out a battle cry that sent me reeling. "Crap, what did she do?"

"You probably don't want to know," Mr. Holmes told me.

"Oh, my. . . I am _so_ going to kill her once I get home!"

This, surprisingly, silenced the Orcs. The leader stepped forward and started speaking to Mr. Holmes, who got some directions and negotiated for some transportation. Within five minutes, the army was gone and we were left behind with a horse they had stolen a couple days ago.

Ever heard of being saddle sore?

He was a fast horse, and I don't remember his name. He got us to where we needed to be, which was some village out in the middle of nowhere. We dismounted and someone stabled our horse.

"They really like their horses," Mr. Holmes commented. "All the decor is equine."

"Very interesting. I, for one, do not like horses. They smell, they eat, they fight, they do what they're told and they pull their weight. Little girls that want a pony for their birthday have an overly romanticized view of these beasts. Horses are nothing spectacular; they are animals."

"Good for you, but don't share your opinions around here."

We, well, Mr. Holmes decided to have a look in the biggest building around, which was a hall for royalty, I guess. The guards let us in because we were unarmed according to them. However, I knew Mr. Holmes had brought along a revolver, just in case.

Inside, everyone was enchanted. Even Mr. Holmes could taste the power in the air. On the throne sat the queen who stared at us intently. As we walked down, we were greeted with suspicious glances and stares. "Who are you strange visitors?"

Mr. Holmes whispered in my ear, "That is your friend, Baylei Bryan. She doesn't recognize you." We stopped before the queen, and he answered, "Ms. Baylei Bryan, I am from the Department of Literary Abuses. You have been found guilty of actively destroying the story known as The Lord of the Rings, causing emotional pain for the people of Middle Earth, more specifically, Legolas Greenleaf. You are also guilty of creating one Mary Sue known as Agora, the name of which is actually a Greek marketplace. The punishment for said crimes is character banishment from Middle Earth. Could you please come with me."

I had the hardest time not laughing while Mr. Holmes gave his little spiel. Not only did he sound like a long-winded robo-FBI agent, but Baylei turned stark white and her jaw dropped to the floor. Her expression didn't change when she walked with us out the door.

Outside, I took out a little notebook from my pocket and started writing a little something to send her back home. "Ms. Bryan, if we find you have done this again, we will confiscate all writing materials," I warned her. "Is that understood?" She swallowed and nodded fast enough to give her brain damage. "Good." I finished the last sentence and she disappeared.

Mr. Holmes and I waited a good three seconds before we started laughing our heads off. "Department of Literary Abuses! That's a good one!" I managed to say. "Does it even exist?"

"It does now. We really need a Department like that. And you, you're such a hypocrite."

"Am not! I'm not destroying London. Deliberately." I started writing more stuff in my notebook to send Mr. Holmes home. "The Department _is_ a good idea. You'll have to give it a better name, though. And whatever happened to my notebook?"

Mr. Holmes produced it from under his coat. "Ms. Bryan had it in her pocket. I think Jake gave it to her. Take care of it."

I took it, finished up my bit of writing to send Mr. Holmes home, and he disappeared with a tip of his hat.

I opened up my notebook. Inside was a note from Jake, warning me not to lose it again. Laughing, I wrote myself back to school, where no time had passed and where it was in an uproar, due to Baylei Bryan's miraculous re-appearance.

* * *

I guess that's the end of that one. Stay tuned for the third part of my trilogy, Dungeons and Dragons v. Detecting and Deduction. Until then, don't make the Department of Literary Abuses come after you. Wait a second. Is that an agent? Uh oh.

_Rhiannon Phan_


End file.
